


you are all (that i adore)

by lupa_lupena



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (especially in bed), Crowley has a potty mouth i'm so sorry, Flirting, I'm warning you, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Mama Bear!Aziraphale and Papa Wolf!Crowley is now my favorite headcanon, Swearing, and Zira fixes everything with his magic hands, and it definitely won't be Crowley, but this 'fic was an absolute joy to write, either way someone gets their demon ass handed back to them, even if i stayed up until 7 am to finish it, i''m so sorry this was late, i'm pretty sure Zira loves it, just a bit though, lots and lots of fluff, never mess with their children, or is a Mother Hen! Aziraphale more appropriate, set after s1e6, so much bloody pining, trigger warning: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupa_lupena/pseuds/lupa_lupena
Summary: Movie nights tend to be a bit more chaotic when you've got an angel, a demon, four children, and a Hellhound along for the ride.(Or, alternatively, "How Aziraphale and Crowley Sort-of Adopt the Them, Kick - Not Lick - Some Serious Demon Butt, and Six Millennia's Worth of Feelings Are Actually Worth Something.")





	you are all (that i adore)

**Author's Note:**

> This 'fic is dedicated to the lovely @screamingsstars, for the #GoFanExchange organized by @hastur_lavista. I kinda played with your prompt a bit, but I hope you still love it, even though I fudged the deadline and was definitely writing by the skin of my teeth for the ending since I'm only good at starting 'fics, but not finishing them. Have a lovely day xx
> 
> @screamingsstars' prompt was: "Aziraphale and Crowley taking each other out on dates (to places of their choosing) example: Crowley taking Aziraphale to a drive-in theatre, Aziraphale taking Crowley to feed ducks, etc."
> 
> (Title taken from the song 'Angel with a Shotgun' by The Cab.)

After the world almost ends, they have nothing but time.

Of course, it isn't like they didn't have any Before.

Even to someone as long-lived and experienced as Aziraphale, six thousand years of living among humanity still isn't something that passes by with a blink. He's seen so many wondrous things, lived through the rise and fall of various regimes, even took part in the formation of some. In more recent years, it'd been quite hard to enjoy life, what with the actual fucking _Apocalypse_ looming over their heads, but now that they've all managed to push past that particularly ugly piece of work, thank you very much, Aziraphale decides he's quite ready to experience the thrills of a quieter life.

So on a particularly muggy Tuesday morning, he wanders downstairs, a plate of freshly-baked scones in hand, and - 

"Oi, fancy nipping away somewhere for a bit?" Crowley says by way of greeting, sprawled over the futon with his nose buried in one of Aziraphale's books. It's actually one of Adam's lovely additions to the shop, and Aziraphale makes a mental note to start reading them before that nice mother with five kids sees and whisks them all away.

(He did promise Adam he'd do so, after all.)

"Er, where to?" Aziraphale asks.

He offers the plate to Crowley, who in turn, waves them off. He’d never really seen the point in eating, had been more content to nurse a glass (or three) of wine whenever the two of them were together, but Aziraphale sets the plate on the little table behind his head just in case.

“Funny you asked.” Crowley snaps the book shut and sits up, his hair slightly mussed from lying down. Aziraphale almost points it out, but it’s actually a good look on him – one that makes him appear millennia younger – and so he stops himself from saying anything. Instead he tries not to focus on Crowley as he stretches like a cat, all long lines and sharp features, his v-neck riding up slightly. “They opened a drive-in not too far from here, did you know that?”

Aziraphale busies himself with the nearest stack of books. “No?”

(**Lie**. He’s known for days, actually; has been working up the courage to ask Crowley himself.)

“Well, now you do, angel. Anyway, I was wondering if you … wanted to catch a movie with me. Tonight.”

Huh. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, Crowley almost sounds … nervous. Which is odd indeed, because he’s never actually seen Crowley be nervous around anything or anyone, not even when they were facing the actual Lord of Darkness in the flesh.

And it’s probably that very nervousness that makes _him_ nervous as well, which is the only logical reason why he says what he says next:

“Lovely! I’ll ring up Mrs Young and ask her if Adam could come along.”

“Oh, I was actually thinking – “

“You’re right, Adam might find that a bit awkward. I’ll ask him if he wants to invite one of his friends as well. But perhaps not that Brian lad? He’d probably spill popcorn and soda all over your backseat. Oh, no, it wouldn't be fair to leave him out just because he makes messes. After all, human children make messes all the time, don't they? I'll just clean up whatever they ruin, I promise. Ooh, this is going to be fun! Just a moment now, Crowley.”

Aziraphale disappears into the next room, doing the angel equivalent of a face palm the entire way.

*

In the end, Adam takes Pepper, Wensley, _and_ Brian along. All four of them squish into the backseat as soon as Crowley pulls up outside the Youngs’ residence, Dog napping contentedly at their feet. Aziraphale promises Mrs Young that they’ll have the children home before nine, and soon they’re off, the four youngsters talking their ears off with questions about Heaven and Hell and everything else in between.

Once they arrive, Aziraphale makes Crowley stop at the entrance for snacks and drinks, and offers to pay for everything. As expected, Crowley does the exact opposite of listening to him and practically blows his wallet on food – popcorn for all of them, chocolate bars for the children, and a nice chunk of beef jerky for Dog to gnaw on to pass the time.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll make a mess in here?” Pepper asks, even as she tips half her popcorn bucket into her lap.

Crowley gives her one of his rare half-smiles. “Oh, we won’t be dining in here, sweetheart.”

He snaps his fingers, and suddenly, all of them are outside, sprawled under a large oak tree with an overflowing picnic basket beside them. There’s even a little squeaky toy in the shape of a snake for Dog. Wensley pops the basket open and starts to pull food out. Toad in the hole, little chocolate balls, bacon sandwiches, that particular strawberry cake from Aziraphale’s favourite café …

“Hang on,” Brian says. “These are all our favourite things to eat.”

“Is it? Well, I had no idea,” Crowley replies. “Dig in, short stuff.”

Aziraphale fixes him with a fond smile. “You were listening to them talk, weren’t you? They mentioned this earlier.”

“I had no idea,” Crowley repeats with a wink, and Crowley’s always been like this, so open with giving affection that Aziraphale really should be used to it by now, but something about all this - letting the children come along, this whole impromptu picnic, spoiling them rotten – makes something in his chest squeeze and suddenly, Aziraphale feels so _warm _all over all of a sudden. “Now, budge over, angel. I’m tired from all that driving.”

To his surprise, Crowley pulls the angel much,_ much_ closer, drops his head into Aziraphale's lap, and settles in, crossing his arms over his chest with a contented sigh. Aziraphale tries to formulate a proper response and finds he can't even think of one. He settles for swallowing instead. The children don't even notice, fixated as they all are on the movie and the candy and Dog making a fool out of himself with his new toy.

Besides, having Crowley draped all over him ... isn’t such a bad thing.

In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

Crowley is warm and smells oh-so-delightful, and this close, Aziraphale can make out the freckles on the bridge of his nose, every last one. They remind him of miniature stars. A whole nebulae of them.

The demon catches him looking and pulls his glasses off, that familiar smug smirk already in place. 

“Like what you see, angel?” he whispers, barely audible over the children’s voices.

(His eyes - oh, and Aziraphale had never fully appreciated how _beautiful_ they were before, all golden and perpetually animated, and Aziraphale would never tell anyone, even under pain of discoporation, but he thinks they're the features he's always [<strike>loved</strike>] liked the most and right now, they are bright and amused, twinkling just for him.)

“Oh, don’t be daft, Crowley,” Aziraphale retorts with a roll of his eyes.

The faint blush on his cheeks says otherwise, however, and Crowley turns back to the movie with a pleased smirk on his face.

Halfway through the movie, Wensley crawls over, mouth only a little smeared with sugar.

“What is it, darling?” Aziraphale asks. “Are you thirsty?”

“Actually, I am, Mister Aziraphale. And I need to use the loo as well. Would it be alright if I went on my own? I’ll be quick, I promise,” the boy says, eyes bright behind the frames of his own glasses. Oh, dear. His mother would probably have a hard time putting him to bed later on. Still, the children deserved treats like this; they’d had a hand in saving the world from Armageddon after all.

“Well, of course, Wensley. Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you? I can get Crowley here to stand up and – “

The boy shook his head. “There’s no need for that, Mister Aziraphale. I’ll be quite fine.” He gives Aziraphale another charming smile and scampers off, Dog on his heels when Adam commands him to keep Wensley company.

“You’ve got a soft spot for him, haven’t you?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale startles, pushing Crowley off his lap in the process. “_Ow!_ What, you thought I was actually asleep? Only a fool would nap through a Burton film. That really fucking hurt, angel, I take you here and – “

Surprising even himself, Aziraphale reaches over and presses his hand to the back of Crowley’s head. Soft white light flows from his fingertips and into the demon’s hair, illuminating him from behind. His hair is standing on end again, and not in the usual accidentally-on-purpose messy way he often does it, and seeing him like this for the second time today makes Aziraphale smile.

“Allow me.”

Gently, he pats it all down, letting himself linger a beat too long over the swell of Crowley’s cheek before he pulls his hand away.

“There. Back to your old self, my dear.”

Crowley opens his mouth … and promptly closes it again, apparently having nothing to say for once. The thought of confounding _Crowley_ of all people pleases Aziraphale to no end, and he leans back against the tree with something like a grin twitching at the corners of his lips. Crowley doesn’t lie back down, much to Aziraphale’s disappointment; instead he opts for sitting as humanly (_Ha!_) close as possible, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to foot, pinkies almost touching from where their hands lie on their knees. It’s a good enough replacement, and Aziraphale allows his head to dip downwards, slowly, slowly, until it finds Crowley’s shoulder. It’s the most contact he’s allowed in the last six thousand years, and Aziraphale isn’t exactly sure what it is they’re doing, but Crowley isn’t pulling away – seems to encourage it, in fact, if the way his head falls atop Aziraphale’s is any indication – and so he leaves the matter alone.

There _was_ a saying about never looking gift horses in their mouths, wasn’t there?

Aziraphale presses his forehead into Crowley's shoulder. Slowly, he looks up, only to find Crowley already looking down at him with one eyebrow raised. Those damned things really had a life of their own, Aziraphale swears.

"What're you looking for, angel?"

For some inexplicable reason, Aziraphale's eyes land on Crowley's mouth, observes the pretty bow it makes whenever he forms words, notices how he actually has cute little fangs that are surely a homage to his true self, and isn't this all so bloody _peculiar_, how they're here now, the guardian of Eden and original sin in human form, pressed together, and oh God, Crowley is stroking his cheek, Crowley's fingers are cool and nice against his skin, and Aziraphale wants nothing more than to grab him by that stupid scarf he always wears all of a sudden and - 

"Say," Brian suddenly announces, and the two of them spring apart, blushing furiously. The children don't even notice. “Did any of you notice when Wensley slunk off again?”

It’s only _then_ that Aziraphale notices that Wensley _hasn’t_ slunk off again; has, in fact, been gone for almost twenty minutes; and were those – maggots slithering nearby?

_No …_

“_That fucking fucker_,” Crowley snarls under his breath, already up on his feet. “Stay put, Adam, and watch over these two. I’m about to incinerate someone, and it won’t be a very pretty sight indeed.”

“We want to come with you!” Pepper protests. “I know it’ll be very dangerous, Mister Crowley, but Wensley’s our friend, too, and you’re already wasting time discussing this with us when you know very well we’ll simply follow you the minute you have your backs turned. And besides, what if that’s what they want us to do? To split up? I’ll -“

“Alright, you clever girl, come along.”

Crowley grabs her hand, knotting their fingers together. Aziraphale grabs his other hand and takes Adam’s in his, pulling him along even as Adam and Brian bicker over having to hold each other’s hand. He’s very aware of Crowley’s temperature rising, the grass around his feet dying as soon as he steps on them. Aziraphale doesn’t even bother with restoring the lawn like he usually would. He’ll do it later, once all the children are safe and accounted for.

Something cracks beneath his feet.

Aziraphale stoops for a moment, lets Adam’s hand go, and promptly feels his heart lurch into his throat.

It’s Wensley’s glasses, both lenses cracked, with one hinge completely torn off. He doesn’t let the children see and shoves it into his pocket. With a sense of renewed urgency, he takes off, practically dragging poor Adam and Brian – who had now latched onto Crowley’s free hand – behind him.

“Aziraphale? Angel, what’s gotten into you? What’s wrong?”

“Hurry up now, Crowley,” he says in a steely tone. “There’s no time to lose.”

It was probably a testament to how loose and soft Aziraphale normally was around them all that the remaining four shut up at once. He can feel _something_ roaring in his ears. If anything happened to Wensley …

Lord above, there wouldn’t be _anywhere_ in the entire galaxy for this bastard to hide.

Aziraphale would make pretty damn sure of that.

Around them, the air crackles with ozone.

Pepper gulps audibly. “Is he always like this, Mister Crowley?”

“Not that I know of, sweetheart,” he says, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “Now, hush and come along. We’ll find your friend, I promise.”

A few minutes later, the smell of brimstone intensifies. Aziraphale’s strides lengthen and as he turns the corner –

_There_.

Wensley is upside-down, approximately thirty feet in the air, with Hastur cackling delightedly below him. Dog is nowhere to be found. The little boy’s belongings are scattered around the Duke’s feet, and Aziraphale’s rage intensifies as he watches the demon step carelessly on a panda keychain he _knows_ for a fact he’d given Wensley a few weeks back after he'd noticed the boy repeatedly expressing a keen interest in pandas.

“Stupid little boy, wandering all alone. Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?” Hastur taunts.

“Yes, Hastur,” Aziraphale replies icily. “One wonders what all sorts of scary, ghastly things they might find in the dark, don’t they?”

The demon turns, hands still raised to keep Wensley afloat.

“You,” he snarls. “Mind your business and sod off, will you?”

“Oh, I will, as soon as you give me back my boy.”

Hastur gives him an ugly smile, his rotted teeth stained with tar. “_Your_ boy, angel?”

“Now hang on just one _bloody_ moment, you pisswipe. Only _I_ get to call _him_ – “ Crowley steps in front of them all and juts a thumb back at Aziraphale – “'angel,' got it? What are you even doing here, Hastur? Don’t you have other people to torture instead of preying on a child like a sixth-form bully? By Satan’s left fucking nutsack, I thought you had bigger brains than this.”

“Crowley.”

Hastur spits his name with such hate, such disgust, that the children flinch away involuntarily, and Aziraphale shields them with his body as best as he can, standing shoulder to shoulder with Crowley and sweeping them behind him. The air is stiflingly hot now, filled with brimstone and Crowley’s personal brand of hellfire, and Aziraphale laces his fingers with the demon’s to ground him, to ground them, to remind him that one wrong move could get Wensley hurt.

“Let him go, Hastur. Let him go and I won’t even tell Beelzebub you were up here being such a complete and utter _twat_,” Crowley promises.

Aziraphale squeezes his hand harder. “That isn’t helping our case here, Crowley.”

“I had no idea you had such a soft spot for these brats,” Hastur says with a leer, spinning Wensley around, just to rile them up even further.

Wensley moans, finally facing them. Thankfully, he’s mostly alright, save for the single gash on his forehead dripping a steady stream of blood into his hair. He tries to keep himself calm, tries to reassure himself that head wounds simply bleed more than other kinds of wounds, and focuses on Wensley himself. Aziraphale can see him struggling to keep his eyes open, knows that _Wensley_ knows that one should never fall asleep if one has a particularly bad head wound, and feels a surge of pride rush through him for the boy’s quick thinking.

_Clever boy, good boy …_

“I’m warning you, Hastur. There’s a plant mister in my dash filled to the brim with holy water and I’m not afraid to use it,” Crowley snarls.

“I’m sure that threat works beautifully on the other demons, but I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong one.”

Hastur grins, peeling his lips back to display his fangs, and sends Wensley spinning the other way again. Then, his eyes bulge at something behind Aziraphale and the demon falls to his knees, leaving Crowley with barely a split second to teleport and snatch Wensley out of the air as he falls. 

“Oh, my lord, my prince, your unholiness, I am but your humble servant,” Hastur grovels on the ground.

Aziraphale turns and his own eyes grow wide as he watches Adam – sweet, thoughtful Adam – shoot upward, eyes glowing red, wisps of black smoke curling behind him like wings.

“A thousand pardons, Lord Adam, I never would’ve done such a thing if I’d just … I’d just known that this … _thing_ was in liege with you, my prince, forgive me, oh, sweet boy, forgive me …”

“What have you done to my dog?” the boy says, very softly.

“I … I sent it away, your Majesty, but … but I can get him back! Yes, yes, I can! Here!”

Hastur claps his hands, and at once, Dog is there, snarling and baring his fangs at the Duke of Hell. 

Pepper reaches out for him. "Heel, Dog," she commands, and Dog runs over to her at once like the obedient little Hellhound that he is. She scoops him up and buries her fingers in his shaggy fur, scratching at a spot that makes Dog whine in a decidedly domestic manner. 

“You hurt my best friend. Why would you do that? He never did anything to you,” Adam continues in the same soft voice.

“I did not know, my liege!” Hastur repeats, practically slobbering all over himself. “Please, please, forgive me. I am at your complete bidding. You have only to ask and I will do whatever you say to the best of my abilities, I _swear_ it.”

Adam arches one eyebrow. “You swear it? On your life?”

“Yes! Of course, yes, yes, sweet boy. Sweet, darling boy …”

“Then I _order_ you, Duke Hastur, to go to the very ends of the earth, where there is nothing but ice and poison, and _stay there_ until the end of your days. Disobey me, and I’ll march down to Hell before this night is over, tell your king what you did, _then_ discorporate you myself. Do you understand me?”

Hastur pales. “B-b-but … my Lord … I truly didn’t mean any harm. I was just … playing a little game, yes, yes. All in the name of fun –“

“Oh, you like games, do you?” Adam floats forward, smirking psychotically. “I like playing games as well. Very well, Lord Hastur. Let’s play a little game of hide and seek. I’ll give you until three to hide, and if you lose, only _then_ will I discorporate you. Does that sound a bit better?”

“Truly, my Lord, truly. You are most kind and wise and I thank you for your mercy, my prince,” Hastur croons, crawling forward on his knees to kiss the tips of Adam’s sneakers.

On instinct, Aziraphale throws a hand out and an unseen force yanks the demon back by the collar of his dirty coat. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him, fiend.”

“Time’s up, Duke Hastur,” Adam tuts and he raises a hand.

Hastur yelps, and in a flash of brimstone and smoke, the demon disappears. Adam’s energy blast hits nothing but dying grass, and he drops, fully spent from using his powers for too long. Aziraphale cushions his fall with the air and the children rush over to him and Crowley at once, no longer scared with no visible threat in sight.

“Adam? Adam, wake up!” Brian says, slapping the other boy's cheek lightly. 

“Is Wensley alright?” Pepper asks, peering at the misty-eyed boy in Crowley’s arms. “Wensley, do you know who I am? Do you remember my name?”

“Actually, I’m _concussed_, not stupid, Pepper. Have you seen my glasses? Oh, my mother’s going to skin me, she said that would be my last pair for a while,” Wensley says worriedly.

Aziraphale almost cries with relief. He pulls Wensley’s glasses out of his pocket and repairs it with a wave of his hand. “Here you go, young man. You gave all of us a very bad fright indeed, did you know that?”

“Mister Aziraphale!” Wensley’s tiny face lights up at the sight of the angel. Then, it crumples, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I’m so sorry, I know I promised I’d only be a few minutes, but Dog went looking for squirrels in the underbrush and I had to run after him, and the next thing I knew, someone had grabbed me and I was in the air. Please don't be mad at me. Or Dog."

"Oh, my dear boy, none of this is your fault. If anybody, it was mine. Completely mine. I let you go off on your own, and I didn't even notice that you were taking far too long. I'm so, so sorry, Wensley. Do you forgive me?" Aziraphale says. 

"Well, of course, Mister Aziraphale! There isn't even anything to forgive. But ... I don’t remember where I got this actually.” He pats at the wound on his forehead. “Goodness me, that’s actually a lot of blood, isn’t it? Oh, Mother really will be cross now. Ouch! Pepper, don't press on it! It really stings!"

“I’ve got this one, angel,” Crowley volunteers, pressing two fingers to the mess of blood on Wensley’s forehead. “There now, love, you’ll be alright.”

Aziraphale and Pepper watch as the wound knits itself together, blood seeping back into the cut, skin falling back into place. Even after millennia of knowing that their kind can do such a thing, it’s rather different watching _Crowley_ do it, seeing him be so gentle with these children and protecting them as fiercely as he’s been protecting Aziraphale all these years, and –

_Oh. Oh, good Lord._

Aziraphale feels himself flush from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

“Angel?” Crowley says, stepping into his space with only Wensley keeping them apart. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale blinks. “Yes, yes, I’m quite fine, Crowley! Come now, I think that’s enough excitement for this lot for the night. Pepper, would you be so kind as to help me pick up Wensley’s things, darling?”

“Of course, Mister Aziraphale.”

The two of them take it upon themselves to pick up the odd bits and ends that had fallen out of Wensley’s pockets – the panda keychain, two hard candies, a lolly, his house keys. Aziraphale snaps a little bag into existence and puts everything in there, adding a few pounds for Wensley and the others to spend on ice cream.

“Not all at once, mind you,” Crowley says as the six of them trudge back to the Bentley, demon and angel cradling Wensley and Adam respectively with Brian and Pepper walking on either side of them, Dog carrying the now-empty picnic basket in his mouth. “I don’t want to hear any of you getting a bad stomach ache because you had one too many sweets before dinner, am I clear?”

“Yes, Mister Crowley,” Wensley says sleepily, yawning. “Actually, could I go to sleep now? I’ve been trying so hard not to, but I think the excitement’s finally gotten to me.”

Aziraphale chuckles and snaps his fingers. The doors of the Bentley open for them. “In the car, lad. Come on now, Brian, Pepper, mind your heads. Dog, in you go.”

Crowley slams one car door shut, and on the opposite side, Aziraphale does the same with the other. Before he can slide into his seat, Crowley clears his throat, drumming his long fingers on the roof. He gives Aziraphale a knowing look. In all the excitement, Aziraphale had forgotten about what had happened earlier, and he flushes heavily as he remembers how uncharacteristically forward he’d been, with all the hair touching and leaning and oh, Lord, why was Crowley smiling at him like that?

“Well,” the demon begins, in a rare, soft voice, “that was quite a night, wasn’t it, angel?”

Aziraphale gives him a nervous smile. “It was indeed. Let’s get them home, shall we?”

Before Crowley can say anything else, Aziraphale pops his car door open and makes his way in, busying himself with the seat adjuster and pointedly looking at anything else that isn’t a certain red-haired demon. Crowley, for his part, doesn’t push it; simply reminds the children to fasten their seatbelts and takes off, not even speeding like he normally does. He seems … upset, for lack of a better word, and Aziraphale immediately feels bad for brushing him off. Oh, why did he always have to make everything all _wrong_?

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale looks out the window and reaches until his hand finds Crowley’s free one. He feels the demon jerk, but he doesn’t pull away. On the contrary, Crowley loops their hands together, his long fingers folding over Aziraphale’s slightly stubbier ones. His hand is _huge_, dwarfing Aziraphale’s completely, and it feels nice and warm and Aziraphale extends his powers a bit, just to get a grasp on what Crowley is feeling at the moment, and –

Love immediately washes over him – love so_ pure_ and _strong_ and _constant_ – and it’s a bit like being punched in the gut, and Aziraphale inhales sharply as he takes it all in. Good Lord, was this really what Crowley felt for him?

Because if it was, and it’d been _here_ all along –

Oh, God, Aziraphale could be such a _clotpole_ sometimes.

“Angel?” Crowley turns to look at him, eyebrows knit together with concern. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale looks in the mirror to make sure all four children are asleep - they are, as a matter of fact, and he conjures a couple of pillows and blankets to drape over them to make sure they’re all as comfortable as possible – before turning back to Crowley. “I don’t mean to impose, but would it be alright if I stayed at your place tonight?”

"Ha ha, that's very ..." Crowley does a double-take. “Oh, you’re not joking? You’re _serious_, angel?”

“Quite, in fact,” Aziraphale says. “But if it’s too much, I could just – “

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just … there’s still holy water all over the place because of me and Ligur and all that nasty murder business, so I was wondering if we … if I … could – you know, crash on your sofa instead? I promise I don’t take up much room, angel.”

Aziraphale knows for a fact that Crowley is lying. It’s been three weeks since they averted the Apocalypse, and holy water actually evaporates faster than normal water due to it’s nature, so given the amount of time they’d spent running around at the airbase, it should’ve dried up around the time Aziraphale had gotten his flaming sword back.

Aziraphale doesn’t mention it.

Instead, he simply nods and gives Crowley a soft smile. “Of course, my dear, of course.”

In the trees outside the Bentley, primroses burst into bloom.

They were too far from Berkeley Square to hear the nightingales, but Aziraphale could swear that was a bluebird perched on the Bentley's hood over there, and for now, that was more than enough.

This is peace.

**Author's Note:**

> primroses = a sign of young, innocent love 
> 
> while crowley and aziraphale certainty aren't young or innocent, this is the first time either of them are openly acknowledging whatever's going on between them, and so i thought primroses would be quite fitting for their situation
> 
> bluebirds = symbolize happiness, living in the moment, and simplicity
> 
> crowley and zira certainly deserve some peace after everything they've been through, my poor soft boys. i wanted a type of bird that would represent the happy ending these immortal beings would finally get after finding the antichrist and having a hand in averting the apocalypse. y'know - typical couple stuff.
> 
> -
> 
> your thoughts, creative criticisms, kudos, and whatnot would be deeply appreciated! ~ leave any of those down below, and make me a very happy girl indeed :)))


End file.
